


Tea and Scandal

by rev_lady_mal



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev_lady_mal/pseuds/rev_lady_mal
Summary: Warning: Suggested fetishism.  England has a thing for delicate, small hands pouring tea.  America may be suffering from some past tea pouring trauma.





	Tea and Scandal

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Suggested fetishism. England has a thing for delicate, small hands pouring tea. America may be suffering from some past tea pouring trauma.

It had been another dismally unproductive world meeting. The exhausted nations at least agreed to take a break for the afternoon before returning to finish up what business they could before the evening. As soon as the meeting adjourned the nations scattered like bugs hiding under a rock that had just been overturned, looking for something to amuse them until they all had to return. 

America walked with France and England, wondering where he could get some food. “Man, I’m hungry,” he blurted out; looking at the storefronts they passed. “Let’s get something to eat before we have to head back to the meeting.”

 

“You’re always hungry git!” England muttered. “It’s tea time anyway. Let’s find a tea room or café.” 

“You’re just as predictable as ‘e is, Angleterre,” France smirked. “Let’s find a café where we can have a drink, Hmm?” 

America grinned at France. “I second that!” he began looking around for someplace to get a bite to eat. 

England shook his head. “I hardly think Robert’s Rules are necessary for agreeing with France about that.” 

America had walked a little ahead; he turned and looked at England, confusion clearly written on his face. “Huh? Who’s Robert?” 

France rolled his eyes and waved his hand at both of them. “It does not matter,” he walked between them taking the lead. The two of them were so alike at times. “Ah, that looks like a lovely spot, and I see some familiar faces there already.” He gestured toward a sidewalk café on the corner. Seated at a round table were Belarus, Belgium, and Hungary. 

It was England’s turn to roll his eyes. “I can see why you think it’s a lovely spot.” He followed France though because he could already see a waiter bringing service for tea out to the female nations’ table.   
“Well, as long as they have food.” America chimed in, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he followed the other two. He always felt more than a little awkward around women. They were pretty and all … but he still found them hard to talk to. As they approached the table where the girls were seated, he ducked inside the café to check out what they had to eat. Maybe some ice cream would be good. The last thing he was interested in was tea; just the thought of it made him shudder. 

England and France walked over to the table where the women were seated. Belgium immediately spotted them and waved. “Hello! Please join us!” She patted the seat between her and Hungary.

France sat in that seat, giving both ladies one of his charm-laced smiles before calling the waiter over and ordering wine. England sat down between Belarus and Belgium and told the waiter he would join the ladies for tea. “But please, don’t wait for me. Help yourselves and I will catch up.” He gave each of the women a smile of his own. 

Hungary smiled at England, “That’s very nice of you! Belarus, go ahead and pour, you’re closest to the pot!” 

Belarus picked up the pot and began pouring tea into Hungary’s cup just as the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine for France and England’s service. England barely noticed the waiter was there, however; his gaze was fixed on Belarus’ hands as she carefully poured tea into each of the waiting cups. England for the first time noticed how slim her wrists were, and how gracefully she lifted the heavy pot. “You have quite lovely hands, my dear,” England replied in a low voice filled with warmth. 

Belarus set the pot down, reaching for the small pitcher of cream and sugar bowl. “Thank you … cream, sugar?” She offered it to England first, her expression unchanged.

“Of course, my dear,” he answered, leaning closer to watch her hands again as she put both in his tea. 

Belarus glanced at him, holding both sugar bowl and creamer in her hands once she finished. “… Does anyone else need cream and sugar?” She looked at the other women there, wondering if they noticed something different about England’s behavior. Honestly, it gave her the creeps. 

Hungary gave England a funny look as she took both from Belarus and served herself; noticing right away his gaze turn to her and watch as she poured cream into her tea. Hungary’s look turned to confusion when she noticed him looking directly at her hands. “Belgium? Cream and sugar?” 

“Of course,” she answered, taking them from her to fix her own tea. 

France poured a glass of wine and held it under his nose, watching the ladies and England prepare their tea before drinking it. He would never understand Angleterre’s obsession with the whole tea ritual and decided it was time to divert his attention with something more pleasant than thinking about the Englishman’s obsession with the bitter brew. He turned to ask Belgium a question when he noticed her staring at England as he gazed at her hands. She put the creamer and sugar down, and raised her teacup to her lips, glancing over the top of the cup at him, her cheeks turning pink.

France looked at England and then stared at him as he noticed the other nation had a look of complete ardor in his eyes as he gazed at Belgium drink her tea. He lifted his own cups to his lips, drinking deeply. “Mmm, perfect Belarus, I’m impressed. Just the right amount of sweet, perhaps hinting at your own sweetness?” His gaze turned to her as he drank his tea, his eyes conveying something more than appreciation for milk and sugar.

Belarus bristled. Her eyes narrowed as she put down her own cup. “Tea is enjoyed in my country as much as it is in yours, we know how to prepare it.” She answered him with growing agitation. His behavior put her on edge. 

“Of course my dear, but I still wish to complement a beautiful lady when I have the opportunity.” England seemed unaware of Belarus obviously not enjoying his attention. 

The other three at the table stared at England incredulously; he actually attempted to flirt with … Belarus. Belgium covered her mouth and giggled. Hungary’s eyes grew large, especially when she saw the look on Belarus’ face. France quirked an eyebrow, thinking this had become uncomfortably strange. England continued to look at her with green eyes clearly enjoying the view as he gazed over her. He put down his cup and smiled. “Would you be so kind as to pour another cup?” 

Belarus hesitated for a moment before reaching for the teapot when the eerie uncomfortable spell was broken by the sound of loud, obnoxious slurping through a straw. America wandered back to the table holding an enormous plastic cup in his hand and slurping away at the root beer float inside. “Hey girls! Sup?” He blurted out cheerfully, “Yer all lookin’ hot today!” he added, thinking girls liked being told they were pretty. 

France put down his wine glass and pinched the bridge of his nose. England’s generous eyebrows drew together as he scowled at America. All three women stared at America with looks ranging from irritation to embarrassment to amusement. 

“As I was saying.” England said after everyone sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, listening to America loudly slurp on the plastic straw in his drink, “Belarus, may I please have another cup of tea?” 

Belarus jumped in her seat a little, glaring at England before reaching for the teapot to pour. Her eyes kept darting sideways over to him as she lifted the pot, growing more agitated when the odd light once again appeared in his eyes, and his smile grew as he watched her hands. She held the pot mid-air for a few moments, looking at him, before putting it down and crossing her arms over her chest, feeling violated in some odd way. 

Hungary glanced at her, and then reached for the pot. “I’ll do it.” 

America stopped mid-slurp and grew very quiet as he watched Belarus and England. His body broke into a cold sweat as his eyes filled with a look of fear and alarm. He instantly found himself far away from the sidewalk table of the café and back in time to an ornate table in a sitting room where England took his afternoon tea. 

“America, now pay attention! You must learn how to pour tea properly!” England sat opposite him, looking down at him and frowning. 

The nation heard his much younger, higher pitched voice angrily answer back. “No! I don’t want to! You can’t make me! I don’t want any tea!” He shook with fear and anger. He didn’t like the way England looked at him when he held the teapot! 

“America, you listen to me! You will drink tea, and learn to like it! All respectable Englishmen drink tea!” England reached over the table and grabbed America’s hands by the wrists, forcing them to the teapot. 

The young colony jumped away and cried out when England touched him. “No England! I hate it! I don’t like how you look at me! You can’t make me! I hate it! I hate it! IT’S EVIL!” America grabbed the teapot, hoisted it over his head and threw it to the floor with all of his might; making the teapot smash into tiny bits and hot tea splatter everywhere. The sound of women crying out in alarm made America look up and realize he was standing on a sidewalk next to a table in front of a café. He looked down at the remains of the teapot, and his root beer float lying next to it. “Fuck! Dropped my float!” He turned and bolted back into the café to hide his red face.

The female nations gave each other awkward looks, wondering what had just happened. They had never seen America act so emotional before. France sat quietly, finger tapping his lips as he went deep into his own thoughts. 

England scratched the back of his head, feeling rather embarrassed by America’s behavior. “Eh … he was always so unpredictable.”

France facepalmed and sighed. “Angleterre … “

“It’s not just a story, America really hates tea.” Belgium thought out loud, looking at the broken pot.

“What a really strange reaction. Doesn’t he drink coffee?” Hungary looked at England and France. 

“’eavy cream and sugar, in very large quantities, preferably paying way too much money for it,” France replied, glancing at Belarus as she angrily wiped the tea off of her skirt with a napkin. “He’s abhorred tea from a very young age, ‘owever,” he added, glancing at England with a disapproving look. 

“Wot,” England retorted. “As if you have any bloody room to make that judgment!” 

France groaned, sat back and sipped from his glass of wine. He hated it when England got the better of him … at anything.

**Author's Note:**

> A work of nonfiction by Benjamin Carp about the Boston Tea Party suggests there could have been more behind the destruction of tea in Boston than just refusing to pay taxes. Tea was a new, exotic drink in England during the colonial period; a luxury only the rich could afford. The upper classes developed a tea culture that revolved around women and afternoon gatherings. Expensive teaware was sold and men visited ladies during the afternoon to share tea and gossip. The English considered tea an aphrodisiac; the sight of ladies’ hands pouring tea became titillating for English men. In colonial New England of course, this was not lost to the good Puritan mindset of the American colonists, and many Sunday sermons and lectures expounded the risks of imbibing in the lewd brew, as well as the idle gossip it allowed as women spent the afternoon drinking it.


End file.
